Out in the field: pro footballer Alissa Wykes talks about breaking new ground for out lesbian athletes--and the flak she's gotten along the way. (Sports).

Alissa Wykes doesn't scare easily. The 5-foot-6, 209-pound professional football player, nicknamed "A-Train" by her Philadelphia Liberty Belles teammates, was even singled out by Sports Illustrated Women in its December-January issue, which says she will be remembered as "a rugged pioneer" if her league makes it big.

But Wykes says that after talking to SIW reporter Michael Silver, she had a gnawing anxious feeling. "Of course I am a lesbian," she'd told Silver during the interview. But the fullback says she nonetheless had second thoughts about seeing it in print. "Being a lesbian is part of the story," Wykes tells The Advocate today. "To leave it out didn't seem right. To make it the focus didn't seem right."

Though she had the support of her teammates and team owner Marie Olsen, Wykes couldn't help worrying that someone was going to react negatively to her coming out in print. Sure enough, soon after the issue hit newsstands, someone did: Catherine Masters, the founder and CEO of the recently formed National Women's Football League.

"She called me out of the blue," Wykes says. "She said, `I'm going to squash you and kick you out of the league.' I was really taken aback. That was the first thing out of her mouth." According to Wykes, Masters said, "I don't care if you're a dyke. I've got dyke friends." But then Masters went on to say the fullback had "sabotaged" the league's marketing scheme and that major sponsors had threatened to pull out.

Masters acknowledges that she was upset when she read the article about Wykes but insists she "never called her a dyke." The real reason she was upset, Masters says, was because she was disappointed with the article, not with Wykes's sexual orientation. "I would have preferred she talk about football," Masters says. "Our league is not a soapbox for anyone's personal agenda." She says she wished the article would have focused on the professional accomplishments of Wykes and the Liberty Belles--who won the inaugural NWFL championship in July--rather than players' personal lives. "My irritation was the whole tone of the article," adds Masters, who points to jokes about Wykes's "small bladder" and tales of beer drinking and bar fights as examples. "I was frustrated with [Wykes] because she didn't realize he'd print everything she told him." Professional athletes wouldn't do that, she says, adding that "they'd lose their salaries."

But Wykes insists that it's her status as an NWFL player that allowed her to come out in the first place. "I'm in a position to do this," she says. "Here's where I'm going to make a stand. I'm not going to lose a million-dollar contract."

Though Wykes did indeed have a contract last season, it certainly was not for a million dollars--like all the other players in the 1 1/2-year-old semipro NWFL, she was unpaid. In fact, not only do most have full-time jobs, Belles players must raise enough money themselves to cover all their expenses for the season.

When she's not playing football or fund-raising, Wykes splits her time between her jobs as a quality control manager for Polymeric Systems Inc. in suburban Philadelphia and as a rugby coach at nearby Bryn Mawr College. Fueled by lunch-hour power naps, she also takes night classes toward a master's degree in sports administration and works with a local feline rescue group. She and her partner of 6 1/2 years, Karen Ericsson, live with a dozen cats and provide foster care for scores more. "I just love cleaning litter boxes," Wykes says, smiling.

She first learned about the NWFL in November 2000 through a newspaper ad. A longtime athlete who'd played softball, rugby, and flag football and has a first-degree black belt in karate, she says the ad piqued her interest, so she and Ericsson decided to watch the Belles tryouts. Wykes still laughs as she remembers a few of the women, who seemed better candidates for aerobics instruction than an offensive line: "One woman had a funky pink-purple-and-orange sweat suit. No self-respecting athlete would ever wear that." But other women were strong and serious enough to convince Wykes and Ericsson--an analytical chemist who also plays softball, flag football, volleyball, and basketball--to try out; Ericsson ended up making the team as well, as a tight end.

Wykes says she grew up watching football but never considered playing professionally because, until the advent of the NWFL, there was no venue for pro women's football. "For me, football was always family time," she says. "We'd eat and nap and watch the game on Sunday afternoons." These days, however, she can't get enough of the action, excitement, and "feeling of invincibility" of playing in full pads.

Wykes is also conscious of breaking new ground in women's sports. She recalls that when one of the men at work brought his daughter to a Belles game, she thought, "It must be great to have a little girl watch the game and think, Wow. I could grow up and play football." Wykes is comfortable with being held up as an example. "Being a role model is OK for me," she says. "If I can inspire someone, I'd like that."

Find more on Alissa Wykes, the Philadelphia Liberty Belles, and the NWFL at www.advocate.com

DuLong has also written for Newsweek and Rolling Stone.